Six Weeks
by mightyfinebear
Summary: What happens when April answers the question "Are you sure you want to do this" April x Crockett
1. Are You Sure You Want To Do This?

He left. Straight from the hospital like he said he would. Not having Ethan around was both easier and harder for her. She needed the reminder of why she was with him. Of what it meant to fight for what they had and not continue to poison it.

But April wasn't ready to admit what she already knew, what she'd already done. It was too final. Finalities weren't her forte. Hard lines were things that happened but not things she engaged with.

She didn't engage in her feelings about her family crushing her dreams of becoming a doctor.

She didn't engage in the loss of her baby. He mind was too preoccupied with how disappointed Tate would be. Then there was the blame. He had begged her not to work too much and although it wasn't the reason; it was always there. The what if.

She didn't really engage her feelings too much on the end of her engagement from him either. Sure, it was devastating, but she knew they weren't compatible so it was more of a sadness of illusion. She quietly moved her things out and stayed with her parents until she found a new apartment.

She wouldn't engage with what she'd done with Crockett either.

Now April was sitting in their apartment, Ethan's apartment. It was his again because she was forgein to the space now. He had made room for her in his life, his closet, his heart. But what had she actually done in response?

She could still smell Crockett on her. Now she couldn't escape the escape.

The way his hair felt under her fingers, his smell. A light wave of perspiration, the fade of cologne and his deodorant. She'd had a whiff of this before, but with it the weight of Sazeracs on their breaths. It was easy to blame it on the drinks. Not to engage with the feelings. The usual.

He knew, he was practically teasing her, being sarcastic if, she even knew what that looked like on him. But Marcel was even a mystery to himself when he was around her.

Live life lightly had turned to live life heavy. But he also didn't dissect his feelings about it too much either. To do so would undermine his casual approach to life. But he knew it, it was too late, he was falling for her. He'd oblige her anything.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"_No."_

She nodded her head yes. If Ethan offered the harsh reality than Marcel was the escape.

Escape under the weight of his body, he is gentler than she wants him to be. She wants to feel something and nothing. April wants it to be quicker than this. She would've accepted a hurried, messy hook-up in the bathroom of a gas station, but Crockett had walked away leaving her in the hall to come to him, to his apartment. He's moving so slowly she is forced to think about what she's doing and it's pissing her off. His motives are different. Crockett wants to take his time undressing her, observing each part of her, taking her to memory, it's as if he knows this is it, this will be all he gets. Placing feather-light kisses on her neck, her inner thighs, her earlobes, he glides his index finger down the bony part of her chest. Finally he takes off her panties

But even though she can feel he's rock hard against her he keeps his underwear on. He begins to finger her, fondling and rubbing her to the point of no return. It wakes up the hollow feeling she is desperately trying to escape. She needs this to move to its end. Her moans are louder but he won't do it, he's watching her until she almost breaks.

"I want you...now," she moaned, pulling as his sides.

It's what he's wanted. What he was waiting for. He wants to hear her admit it. To not passively go through what he is sure is a one-time experience. It's more of a turn on than he realized. He wants to make her say it again, but her hands are already pulling down his boxer briefs as he springs free. As cool headed as he's been he can't resist the wet heat between her legs, as the tip of him slides around the front of her before plunging in. It's that first quick feeling that stimulates the nerves and sets hair afire. That first rush that cannot be replicated no matter how good the rest is. There is no turning back now, but Marcel continues to hold out. Serving the slowest strokes he can without cumming. He bites her shoulder, his fingers press so hard into her skin they are sure to leave bruises. She's cumming now, he can tell. He can feel her writhing and pulsating all around him. He can't hold out, it's over for her so it should be for him too. He speeds up. Going into a performance mode she actually wanted but he saves for other conquests; the ones that don't matter. She isn't even with him anymore. Her eyes are rolled back in her head and she could tap out at any minute. Lucky for her so was he. He ponders it while he still has control of his thoughts, his movements, but in the last second he makes the decision; no. He wants the entirety of the moment so he cums too. Inside her. She's all moans and breath but he's grunts and gibberish as this moment comes to an end.

He doesn't want to let her go. He knows she is lying in his arms because she can't move. Neither of them can. Her legs feel like jello in the spots she still can feel. The rest is numb. Her mind is slowly piecing itself back together. Reality is threatening her escape. Ethan. Barren. The man who isn't Ethan lying on top of her. He can feel that too, the panic.

"Just take a deep breath," he whispers.

He's the first to break away, again. He gets up and slides a pair of linen pants on, before returning with a glass of water for her, he has a bourbon on the rocks in the other hand. She reaches for the glass of bourbon. His eyebrow raises.

"That was my plan for the evening," he said with a sheepish smile.

Only she can make him feel like that, unsure of his surety. He takes a sip of water before heading back downstairs and grabbing the entire bottle and another glass. They stay like this for the rest of the evening exchanging very little words but consuming the entire bottle of bourbon before passing out. When he wakes up in the middle of the night to pee he stares at her, her eyes, they are puffy, crusty around the edges. His pillow has small stains against it. He knew she was torn inside. But when you're desperate for someone you take them even when their broken, god knows Marcel isn't the bastion of health when it comes to these things, but he understands, and that's what's important. When he wakes again his alarm is blaring, and she is gone.


	2. Shiny Box

It doesn't matter who started this, those details take a backseat when you've crossed the line. Just know today started with a box of tampons. A stupid box of tampons. Unopened in the linen closet, their linen closet. She hadn't needed them because she doesn't need them anymore.

What kind of home could she make here? One that came with asterisks or stipulations? One that better have a period. Cause if you don't have a period how are you supposed to have a ba-.

-No, she can't do it. She can't go home to the box, that unopened box. His unopened box. Shiny and full of nothing.

She heads to the nearest bar. She doesn't know anyone, but it doesn't matter, women who look like her only have to walk into a room. Before she even has a chance to take out her wallet her drink is paid for by a man at the end of the bar. He is a collection of descriptions she doesn't even bother to piece together to create a person. He's a bi-pedal brown haircut. She doesn't want this drink. She doesn't want to be here, but she can't be at Ethan's.

So she didn't go home. But he wasn't there so she sat outside his door. Her long legs stretched across the floor, climbing the walls of his narrow hall. She has a bottle of bourbon relaxed across her lap, the cork to her side. It was supposed to be a replacement, but who cares? It doesn't matter who opened it first because he's got a glass now and she is sitting in his chair, shoes off, pretending to listen to him talk about wherever he was. She is a pleasant surprise, a package he never thought would be delivered to his house again. Crockett's chattier than the last time. She doesn't want conversation either. That's not what she came here for and he knows it. She's eyeing him as if there is a timer on this thing. There is, five weeks. That's when Ethan will be home. She'll be back in the shiny box and this, _this,_ will have to end. She doesn't like when his eyes soften. Why is he always so soft?

His looks make her feel like she could do this. Be here, fucking him all the time, even with the shiny box waiting at home. That useless shiny box. But she knows, like he knows, that they can't talk about it.

His eyes soften again at the sight of her. Why is he always so soft?

He's trying to stretch his stolen time longer than he has. Stories, anecdotes, another drink, her glass is empty, if he refills it she'll be close to him and he won't be able to say no. His distance is only prolonging the inevitable and his southern manners won't let her whistle go dry.

Her walks over to fill her glass before she grabs his arm. Her eyes say it. He takes the bottle and shoots one more back before pulling her up and kissing her.

Why is he always so soft? She bites his lip, a tug at first until the skin breaks. Crockett is almost incensed, shocked; she doesn't want to matter. She wants to be one of those panties tear off easy, he's on top of her but paused. Falling into exactly what she wants with an asterisk. He wasn't supposed to get another shot at this. This wasn't supposed to be again.

"What do you want?"

Her eyes are glassy, so much so it was hard to tell when they began to water. She's pissed off again. She tries to sit up before he pins her back down. The hungry can't afford to turn down a meal.

"Just…please," she whimpers.

She'll want for nothing with him.

The others like this, they like when he has his hand to their throat controlling their necks and heads. His headboard wacks against the wall grinding a new shape for them. Another notch. He won't let her look away, this isn't about who gets off, but she doesn't want to be seen. Her eyes are closed tight as he pounds away at her. Her mouth agape into a hollow O. He jolts her body hard into his, he wants her to open her eyes, and she does. He does it again, wishing he could exorcise the pain, shake it out of her. She's awake, she sees him. He stops when panic fills her face. The "oh my god, what am I doing?" look.

"Just breathe."

It doesn't work this time. She pulls away and is in his bathroom, the water is running. They both know she's not washing her hands. He wouldn't dare ask her what was wrong, he knows and he doesn't. He plays along that he doesn't notice her puffy eyes. She drinks the water on the side table. Who knows how long it's been there and even luckier that it's actually water. Her long limbs stretch across his bed for miles, miles of brown skin, stopping only at the tuft of hair over her mound and her perfect tits. She'd try and go again if she had the energy. She doesn't, and Crockett is drinking again. She sleeps, and hopes they can keep this going, even though it isn't sustainable, but maybe at least one more time. She needs it, the empty hole of an apartment is waiting and so is the box of unopened tampons.


	3. Theirs

"No, not tonight," Crockett says.

He won't slam the door in her face, not that face. He is human too. He has bad days too. She looks disappointed, she still has that far away look in her eye. The one holding the discussion they never have. It's been a long day and he isn't looking to share his bourbon tonight.

She nods yes, but her eyes haven't shook that look. He closes the door but he can't get comfortable because that look doesn't sit well with him. Would she find someone else? It isn't jealousy, you can't have that when you have what they have. Whatever it is that they are. It's curiosity, it's concern. Crockett's mind is on her and away from the reason he said no to her to begin with. He grabs his jacket, hoping he can find her. Hoping she hasn't gotten far from him.

She hasn't. April goes to Molly's. Even though she hasn't been there long she is already three shots in. Rejected by Crockett, she isn't worried about anyone seeing her in public. She probably should be. That look hasn't left her eyes, she isn't speaking to anyone and she's already ordered her fourth shot. But there are eyes upon her; Kelly's. He knows her, yet he can't recognize her.

"April, can I join you?"

She blinks out of the place she is, but glass sheens across her brown eyes. She gives him a tight nod. It's time to be the one everyone expects. She doesn't have the energy for this.

"Hi Kelly."

"I heard what happened to Noah, how's he doing?"

He's fishing, hoping to catch the right one, the thing that's destroying her from the inside out. Of course it'd have to be about someone, why would April ever be concerned for herself.

"He's going to be fine."

He purses his lips into a sad smile, it's sympathy. She doesn't want it. He isn't satiated with her reply. Flattery might work to loosen whatever has a hold of her. He knows her.

"April, you are one of the kindest people I-," he began.

"-Stop, please."

Her eyes, they brim with tears, but they are ones of rage. Screw the last shot. Screw being the kindest, she isn't. Screw being the nicest, it gets you nothing. She gets up and walks out. Her tab is still open but she doesn't care, she needs air and they know she's good for it. He's outside, she narrowly bumps into him. He knew she'd go here. They all go here, which is why he never does. She bobs on her feet. He's close to her but even if he wasn't he'd be able to smell the vodka.

"I thought bourbon was our drink?"

She smiles, it's the first time he's seen her do that in weeks. He would never say, "April your sooooo nice, April you'd make the beeeest mom."

She is about to ask him what he's doing here but it doesn't matter, he didn't want to be with her tonight. She begins to walk past him when he pulls at her arm. He scoops his through, like a true southern gentlemen. He's going to walk her home. He's human too. He may look like he's in charge of their direction but he's letting her lead. This isn't a part of what they do. They don't go into her house. _Their_ house. She stops in front of the door. That look is still there. He closes in to kiss her. She stops him. It's what they don't talk about.

"No, not here."

He nods and turns, walking to the stairwell to leave, but she follows. She walks him outside, out to _their_ alley, next to the putrid smell of garbage. It's demeaning to be out here. She grabs the lapels on his jacket and pulls him in. He wonders if vodka is _their_ drink. The kiss deepens, she wants it here. He pushes her against the building. He doesn't want to smell _their_ drink. He turns her around, and unbuttons her pants. She's pushing them down but only to her knees. It's cold. The cool air against his cock is all the more reason to be in her, where it's warm. He groans and the sound echoes off the walls of the buildings. An air of pettiness captures his thoughts. He wants to be loud. Outside _their_ house. Like a dog marking his territory, getting Choi's girl doggystyle against _their_ wall. So he's loud, his vocals are a turn-on for April. She'd tell him to be quiet if she didn't enjoy those sounds so much. She laughs between each hammer of his pelvis against her. She doesn't know why he's being loud, but it doesn't matter because the show is over, he isn't making noise anymore to be petty he's doing it because she feels that good. Her legs are close enough together that it's narrowed her entrance and it's catching the head of his cock. Ecstasy, if it could last forever, but if it did then would it still be something worth chasing. Who knows. Who knows or can think about anything as pleasure propels him forward, he's starting to cum just as she's getting there. The position works for her too, she holds to the back of his jacket as his legs weaken and they are on the ground on their knees. She's cumming and a good thing too because he's getting soft. The smell of the garbage hits again as reality does too. He can't hold her or have her in his bed. Not here. On new legs they stand, wobbling a bit.

"I know I can't stay."

"No."

He wants to kiss her again, goodbye, but to do so would be to taste the vodka. He palms the side of her face, cupping it.

"Goodnight, Nurse Sexton."

She walks back up to _their _apartment.


	4. Pretend To Answer Why

Normally he never asks. He knows not to, but it doesn't stop his curiosity. Why is she with _him_, when _they_ fit so well together? Her long legs are draped over his shoulders as his mouth makes a meal of her. She tastes like any other woman, but they are all the same for the most part. She's different because she just is. Her body is rigid now as she cums, she's twisting and contorting trying to tap out but he won't let her. She grabs a fistful of his thick hair, he only stops because she has control now as she pulls his head back, a devilish grin forms on his glistening lips. She smiles too. Jerk.

She's comfortable in his loft, walking around naked, following him as he goes to the kitchen to refill their glasses, their drink; bourbon. She's sitting on his barstool watching him. A mirror across from her makes it feel like a real bar. His curiosity is peaked.

"How long have you been together?"

Her eyes flash with surprise, he never asks; they don't talk about it.

"On and off for about two years."

April brings her glass to her mouth. Why does he want to know? Why does he care?

He nods as if that's all he wants to know. He's still hard, he walks around the bar and makes her get up before turning the barstool around. He signals for her to get back on.

The sensitivity on her clit is waning, but he's waking it as he rubs it. A shudder runs through her back, his fingers are inside her like he's mining her wetness. He spits into his hand and grabs himself focusing the moistness on the tip before positioning himself to enter the knotted hole on her backside. Her hand's flatten to the counter-top.

"Take a deep breath," he says, he always says, but this time before he thrusts up.

He works slowly, very slowly watching her face in the mirror. He can't help it, he can't tell if she's done this before. She doesn't protest. His lips are now at her neck, suckling at her ear before. He whispers.

"Do you do this with him?"

His eyes are to her in the mirror, his free hand is massaging her clit. Her eyes flutter open. A loaded question.

"No."

An oversimplified answer.

"Then why are you doing it with me?"

She's quiet other than her involuntary breaths at each of his thrusts. He's speeding up, it's not uncomfortable for her but it is a bit shocking to go from nothing, to slow, to the speed they're at now. Her clit is a pulsating mass in his fingers, she's been cumming for a minute now and is on the verge of holy tears, he is almost there, she can barely hold herself in place on the barstool. He's quieter than normal, an intense feeling for him, it pulls him inward.

"Take a deep breath," he whispers.

It's shaky as he can barely get his own under control, she's quivering and even more so as the ripple effect takes hold when he pulls out.

He picks her up and takes her to bed. He's in the bathroom cleaning up. She's already had her turn. Ladies first.

He's watching her resting, he knows she isn't asleep, coiled in his bed like a snake, all legs, all beauty.

He gets under the covers and uses a hand to cup her face.

"I can't go again," she groans with a smile.

"Me neither."

When she opens her eyes he's using his thumb to trace a tiny outline around her cheek. He's looking at her the way he shouldn't be. The way no one else ever has.

"Why-?"

She knows the question, she has never given him an answer. It was supposed to be part of the forbidden conversation. It hurts too much to answer why. Why? Because there's freedom ? Because she's desirable here. Why? Because their fucking isn't a means to an end. Why? Because she feels like an entire woman here. Because he doesn't pity her, because there is nothing wrong with her in his eyes, because she feels seen, because she's in lo-.

It has to stop there. She simply answers;

"Why not?"

They both know it's a gross misrepresentation of what this is. She turns her back to him, she doesn't want to see the look of another man disappointed in her, he wishes she would stay facing him, to know that he's not.


	5. More

He's taken them out, he knows how to behave. Even in a city of two million he knows not to hold her hand, to linger too long around her. He knows to be casual, this mask is the one he wears all the time. He's had practice. She's nervous. She never knows what eyes are interpreting what around them. Even in this place. They're at a climbing gym, an everything-all-in-the-air-kind of place. A fitting place of risk and trust.

She's only done this a couple of times but her memory snaps into place at the procedures; the protocol. They climb all the walls. She can't make all of the difficult climbs and lobs down. Crockett likes a challenge and goes on, soon he's done a few minutes later, thick hair curled by sweat. As they're leaving, returning the equipment, her eyes fall to the room behind the counter.

The fabric hanging from the ceiling floats in the breeze from the air-conditioning. She's hypnotized by it and walks in.

"Have you ever done this?"

The instructor is a mellow looking white woman with ratty dreads, a six pack, and tiny rocks for biceps.

"Once."

She nods and helps April up into the aerial yoga hammocks. Crockett's followed in a few moments later, his polite conversation with the man in the front desk is abruptly cut short when he sees her in the air. Floating, free, as she spins, twirling her legs to flip over and around finally slowing down, so slowly he can see her face. Peaceful, freedom from worry, from whatever weighs on her. It doesn't help his feelings for her. It makes him fall even deeper into whatever he is falling into with her. When she comes down she looks relaxed, a half-smile from her is enough to weaken the grip of casual acquaintance he held in eyes. She sees it. Why is he always so soft? They both reposition their masks to the thank the employees.

Both are quiet as they reach his apartment. He starts the shower, beginning with his hair, his eyes pressed closed as the suds run down him. Her hand slides to his front holding to his middle. She rests her head against his back. They are in mourning before it's even dead. Whatever this is, it has to end soon and it hurts.

She has to be a comfort to him. He might just be the one losing more.

He turns to face her. The water is weighing down her normally gravityless hair. She is beautiful in every way to him. He pulls her in to kiss her. But it's different this time. He takes his time like this will be the last kiss he ever gives her. She doesn't want to rush either. She knows what she's doing, and this is the only time to indulge it. The water is good, it loosens their aching muscles, and keeps their eyes closed so she can't see the light quiver in his chin, and he can't see her tears falling. Why do we get what we need before we've asked for it? Before we're ready for it. Before we can appreciate it. He's washing her hair, her shoulders, her back, butt, and legs. His hand slips between her thighs. It's too slick here and she is slick enough to move to his bedroom.

He won't put his hands to her throat,not for this, they are cupped around her chin as he kisses her. He's melting against her. Why is she always so hard? She has to be. Even now the fear won't let her completely soften. If she does what energy will be left to perform; to pretend for Ethan?

Just because she maintains it doesn't mean it's not difficult, he has his fingers intertwined with hers. He's moving slowly, savoring the moment again. He rolls over so she is on top. His strength his waning. He was making love to her, because he is. She has to steer at this point. Why is she always so hard? April is trying to look away, to close her eyes but every time she opens them he's watching her, like he's trying to memorize her face. He sees her, it's heady and that intoxication is what enticed her to begin with.

It's too much, they are rising together. He's sitting up, they can't escape, neither can look away. Crockett's hands which were gripped at her waist are now hooked through her shoulders. For the first time they cum together. It feels good and it hurts. Crockett normally can't let go but neither can she. They kiss as if it's their last kiss again. They know it will be one of the last. _Don't leave me_.


	6. You'll Miss This

They're in this mess because he broke the rules. He fed her breakfast. Why did she indulge it? He walked her home again, this particular breakfast-making Saturday morning, he walked her right into his local farmers market, he bought her flowers, he told her a story about them, it was too personal. She was listening, impatiently waiting for the next detail, enthralled. When they were close to their apartment she almost turned to kiss him, like a date, like a couple. Dangerous.

She didn't show up to his apartment for weeks after that and she knew he wouldn't dare come by their place. Nothing had gotten easier or less complicated. Not at home or work. They still did that well together too. Crockett was probably more formal than usual there. He knew what impropriety looked like, all southerners know, but working around it was as southern as one could get.

"Isn't Ethan coming back next week April? Are you excited to see him?!"

Monique, innocent, a ray of sunshine, delivering doom with a smile. April nodded tightly, but warmly. Maybe that's why he hadn't seen her, she was debriefing, cleansing herself mentally of their encounters. He was signing off on a couple of medical orders and typing up his notes when he asked Monique if she'd ever thought of becoming a surgical nurse full time. He could use the talented pair of hands. She blushed and giggled at the offer, at the handsome man giving it. April mirrored him in his casual abilities. Her skin burned at the offer.

"Natalie needs someone in six Monique, tell Maggie I'll be right back."

Immediately he takes off after her. A couple paces behind so she doesn't even notice. He has mastered the finesse of still looking at his phone, as if his destination were only casually on the way to the importance on his screen. She was the destination. Hers was a quick snack from the vending machine, a bag of nuts, a candy bar, his face in the glass behind her. They meet eyes, she's angry, so is he. April snatches her purchase. Crockett speeds passed her to the unisex bathroom, he let the door hit, but not latch. Shit, she knows what it means. She shouldn't follow. Not here, not with all these eyes. She follows anyway. Dangerous.

The door snapped and so did she.

"You want to double date with Monique when Ethan returns?" She hisses.

She drops her snacks when he slams her to the door and pulls her pants down. Not here, her eyes were fearful, because not here, not when she knew she couldn't say no. He's hard already, she does that to him. He's pulled one of her legs around him. She yelps, she isn't wet enough, a little pain is nothing compared to the way she's been feeling, it's nothing compared to the jealousy he feels. His hand is over her mouth, her yelps muffled under them as he bites her shoulder to keep his own sound under control. The others don't get this. You have to care to fuck them like this. They have to be able to get under your skin. She is always under his skin. She slides up the door after he presses himself into her, hard. He uses his bottom lip as a muzzle to keep himself quiet, his breath escaping like a bull through his nose, his eyes fixed to hers. He will never be able to make her feel like this, screw her like this, love her like this, Ethan. Back in a week, will this be it? This last frenzied fuck in the bathroom. The sloppiest they've ever been. Dangerous.

She's heat down there but she isn't going to cum, he is. He's broken eye contact because chewing on his lip won't hold this one in. He's back to her shoulder, a muffled agonizing sound drains from him. His eyes are pressed close, his hand over her mouth relaxes. He still isn't ready to let go. A fucking week.

"You'll miss me, you'll miss this...I know you will," he whispers.

His forehead is pressed to hers; their eyes closed. To see each other would hurt more than this already does. She can feel her eyes watering. Not here. She's holding onto too many secrets as it is. He leaves first. She follows a few minutes later, she does go pee, washes her hands and then catches her reflection in the 's something there. Something she doesn't recognize, Something _else_.

That was the last time. When Ethan comes home, his liquor is restocked, the old bottles properly disposed of so he has no idea how much she's been drinking. Everything is as it should be. Her shiny box of tampons catches his eye. He has tracked her cycle long enough to know it should be at least open. He brings her a test. He hasn't stopped this pursuit and she still doesn't have the will, the courage, to tell the truth. They can be disappointed together. She might be able to finally segue the conversation to the inevitable. Maybe this can finally end. She doesn't have it in her to stay with a man who would have the same pitied, guilt-ridden look in his eyes that Tate had when she lost their baby.

Ethan sets a timer and casually begins doing chores. This whole thing feels like a drug test, Ethan her PO. The alarm goes off and April can't even feign curiosity she knows what it'll say. Ethan comes out beaming.

"It's positive, babe, we're going to have a baby."


End file.
